


A Thrombey Christmas Story

by Angelphoenixwings14



Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: #happyhoelidays2020, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Holidays, Hot Chocolate, Mistletoe, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27951131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelphoenixwings14/pseuds/Angelphoenixwings14
Summary: Why does Ransom let Marta call him by his preferred name?A pre-canon holiday fic to fill my need for holiday shenanigans, fluff, and my OTP.
Relationships: Marta Cabrera/Ransom Drysdale
Comments: 14
Kudos: 119





	A Thrombey Christmas Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stargazingfangirl18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargazingfangirl18/gifts), [NavyBrat817](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NavyBrat817/gifts), [donutloverxo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutloverxo/gifts).



> Erm, so hi! I can't believe I wrote a fic that could fall in the Teen rating category xD It's a Christmas miracle.
> 
> This was inspired by the [Happy Hoelidays Challenge](http://stargazingfangirl18.tumblr.com/post/633583239925317632/happy-hoelidays-challenge) the 3 lovely people this is gifted to are running on Tumblr. The prompts I chose were:
> 
> “Congratulations. You’ve officially won the Ugly Sweater contest.”  
> “How much eggnog have you had?”  
> Kissing under the mistletoe  
> Making hot chocolate together
> 
> Sorry, I only post my fiction on AO3, but I still wanted to participate! Or at the very least share what your prompts inspired. Stargazingfangirl18 can tell you how much I ship Marta/Ransom lmfao, hence the canonxcanon pairing. You're welcome to link this to your challenge on Tumblr if you want, but you don't have to!
> 
> I'm rambling sorry. Onto the story.

**“Congratulations. You’ve officially won the Ugly Sweater contest.”** Marta turned around at the derisive comment, her brows lifted and lips pulling in a subtle frown. There in the doorway of the sitting room she stood in was none other than Ransom. His sharp blue eyes tracked her sweater, the rigidness in his jaw detailing his disgust. She didn’t think her blue and silver wool sweater was that bad, but compared to the expensive cashmere draped over his muscles she supposed she looked cheap.

She turned away from the giant fireplace she stood before, the clock mounted atop it clicking another stroke to indicate 10pm had finally arrived. She had an hour left before she could safely vacate the Thrombey’s annual Christmas party, but she’d needed a brief reprieve from their ever-hostile presence. Even with people from their social circles around - staff from the publishing company, business acquaintances and the like mingling with the family - they squabbled however they could. 

The fire helped to warm and calm her, her cup of cocoa sitting on the coffee table aided her recuperation further.

At least until now.

“Really, it’s worse than that scratchy red thing Walt is wearing,” Ransom went on, eyes narrowing on her.

“Did you come here just to tell me that?” In the two years she’d worked for Harlan so far, her and Ransom had shared very few words. He’d mocked his grandfather’s need for care the first time they met, and then mocked her for agreeing to be a ‘friend for hire’ after Harlan had increased her hours. She made it a point to avoid him since, which made this run-in strange.

He stared at her for a long moment, before he brought the glass dangling from his hand up to his lips. She recognized the thickness of the _heavily_ spiked drink and asked, **“How much eggnog have you had?”** Because that was the only reason that made sense of him having wandered here. He chuckled after he took his sip, a heady sound that intrigued her more than she liked. He set his glass down on a nearby end table and moved into the room.

He took languid steps, and noticed how closely she tracked him around the room. He smirked. “Don’t like it when people lurk, huh?”

“What?”

“You’re always lurking whenever I’m around.” He sounded disgruntled, which had Marta tilting her head. 

“I’m supposed to be here for Harlan. That means I need to be near,” she said. Before she could help herself, she shook her head and muttered, “And since you seem to like pushing his buttons, I like to check on his health every now and then. That _is_ my job.” Ransom came over more than anyone would guess to play Go with Harlan, or simply engage in one of their tension-filled rounds of banter. Too often for her liking, those ended in full-blown arguments.

“Hmm.” His eyes dragged over her again, lips drawn tight as he considered her. Despite still lingering near the fire, it was the intensity of his gaze that had her cheeks starting to heat. “Isn’t your job making him feel like he has one honest connection in the world now?” Ransom asked. He stared at her expectantly, but her lips pulled together in a tight line. Sensing her growing irritation with him, he chuckled and flicked his brows. “I can’t decide what that makes you. The help, or some niche escort.”

Marta moved, fully prepared to leave before she had to hear another word, but Ransom was suddenly in her way. Her lips parted, eyes trailing up a well-muscled chest and chiseled jaw to the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. At this proximity, she could see how bright they were, gleaming from the fire behind her. Ransom’s pale lips pulled into a smile that had her heart pounding.

“Do you celebrate Christmas?” he asked. She swallowed, and nearly shrunk under his looming presence.

“Yes.” She took a step back before she’d even realized it, and another when he moved closer.

“All the standard traditions?” 

“What are you-“ her own question cut short when she knocked back into an old side table. The singular drawer beneath the dark wood smacked into her rump and startled her forward. Ransom’s presence immediately made her freeze, one hand reaching back to clamp against the edge of the table, her back arching over it to try and keep some distance between them. He looked up and her eyes followed to a gnarled candelabra that now housed a renovated lantern-style light.

Hanging from the outermost curve of the light fixture was a particular bundle of green and white. Marta looked over the white little buds dangling toward her, and when she registered the ornament was mistletoe of all things, her jaw dropped. 

“Tis the season,” Ransom teased, biting back a smile at how wide her eyes were. She met his gaze for a split second before she dove for the small space between the table and Ransom. His arm shot out before she could take a full step, trapping her in place. “You don’t want to shirk on tradition, do you?” he taunted, the sudden husk to his voice causing something potent to bolt down Marta’s spine. She stiffened and dared a glance at him, her heart suddenly pounding like a war drum. He bowed a little, looming close enough that she could smell his cologne and the spiced rum on his breath.

“But I-“ she had to clear her throat before her voice worked properly. “I work for Harlan. It isn’t right.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” She felt dizzy, her face burning hot and stomach aflutter. She heaved a breath as her doe eyes searched his expression, the smile splitting his lips telling her he was enjoying her dilemma. He sobered a little, lips easing together as he leaned closer, tempting the inevitable.

_He’s not letting me out of this until I kiss him,_ she realized, heart leaping up into her throat. She swallowed it down and leaned forward, determined to get it over with so she could go on pretending this bizarre encounter had never happened. A quick brush of their lips, and it’d be done. Only the second her lips grazed his, his free hand came up to grip the back of her head. Their lips pressed together wholly, the soft skin a dizzying contrast to the firm pressure.

“Mm-“ Marta’s breath hitched. She tipped against him before she even realized it, swept away by the mind-numbing bliss of that kiss. Her skin buzzed, scalp tingling as Ransom’s fingers sifted deeper into her ebony locks. He tilted his head, changing the pressure enough that she groaned – just a little, but it was enough to let his tongue slip past her lips. 

The bolt of desire that struck through her made her knees weak. Her fingers fisted into the fabric covering his bicep, her other circling around his neck to keep her rooted against him. She had no choice but to grind her tongue against his, and the erotic way they danced had a heated wave of lust igniting through her body. Ransom’s other arm wrapped around the small of her back, and for a euphoric moment, their bodies came flush together. 

As quickly as Ransom had ensnared her, he released her. She looked into his eyes in a daze, the once bright blue suddenly dark with hunger.

“You taste like chocolate,” he murmured, breath ghosting over her wetted lips. He licked his own as if to keep tasting her. She blinked, stupefied.

“It’s from-“ words failed her, but she looked toward the coffee table. Ransom twisted to follow her gaze and studied her forgotten mug for a moment.

“Is there any more of that?”

She somehow found herself in the kitchen with Ransom after that, two mugs filled with Swiss Miss hot cocoa packets set between them. The milk was heating over the stove, and the marshmallows, whipped cream, and fudged waited beside the mugs on the counter. Remnants of the party could be heard from the larger rooms of the mansion, but it was just the two of them tucked away in the kitchen.

Marta still felt jittery, and she could hardly look at Ransom as she tried to will the heat from her cheeks, the cool air in the kitchen not as helpful as she’d hoped. Ransom watched her, a small smile tugging at one corner of his lips. When the milk heated enough, she carefully poured it into each mug and stirred the mixture together. Ransom stepped up to help decorate his mug with their toppings, and Marta actually laughed when he threatened to spray the whipped cream at her face instead of in her mug.

Huffing himself, he looked her over and said, “Maybe you’re not so bad, Cabrera.” She finally looked at him and offered a soft smile.

“Maybe you’re not either, _Hugh_.” Harlan had introduced them by name when they met, using Ransom since it was what the family used, but she knew he made the help call him Hugh. She’d seen him torment Fran more than once. She hadn’t bothered calling him anything until this moment. He studied her as she focused on pouring some fudge atop their drinks, his tongue dragging along the back of his teeth while he thought.

She capped the fudge when she was done, and the last sliver from the top streaked her fingertip. Her gaze shifted toward it, but before she could decide what to do, Ransom grabbed her hand. Marta watched as he brought her finger to his lips and sucked her fingertip free of fudge. With a lewd swipe of his tongue, Marta’s lips parted on a silent gasp. She watched his eyes glint with self-satisfied mischief, before he released her hand and said, “You can call me Ransom.”


End file.
